


Distant Caller

by journeycat



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: M/M, Politics, Subtle Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journeycat/pseuds/journeycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When freedom is forever out of reach, you take what few little liberties you can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distant Caller

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published for Royal Week at Goldenlake in June of 2010. Formerly titled The Sweet Far Thing. Ties into Follow the Leader.

“Liam?”

The door creaked open, spilling light from the corridors into his pitch-black room. The prince steadfastly ignored the gentle query, remaining prone on his belly with his face turned away. Only one person dared venture into his chambers without knocking, and one of the few his guards allowed through without challenge—the same person he did not want to see at that moment.

“Liam.”

This time there was no questioning lilt, only his name spoken in that voice.

He mumbled, “Go away. I want to be alone.”

The door closed. Liam was both disappointed and relieved, until a weight settled on the edge of his bed and he realized that he had never even left. A hand touched the flat of his back and burned through his tunic to scorch his flesh. It soothed him, but also strung him even tighter. It was a familiar effect; only Alan could ever make him feel that way.

“Your mother is upset over you leaving,” Alan said, not removing his hand. “I think she had hoped you’d be open to it.”

“I’m being sold,” Liam snapped. He still did not roll over. “My seed is out on auction like a horse.”

“I’ve never known you to turn down a chance at advertising your stud services.”

“Quit making this into a joke.”

Finally, he flipped over, as much to dislodge the burning hand as to try to make out his face in the dark. He only could make out a blurry profile and yet he still got the impression his friend was unhappy. Well, and perhaps he should be.

“I’m being shipped off to Mithros knows where to spread the Conte line,” Liam plowed on, “all for my boring stiff of a brother. You heard Father. ‘You’re needed to secure alliances for Roald. Several states have already expressed interest in you for their daughters, and some of them princesses. Maybe you’ll even get to rule yourself.’ Oh, how kind he is—like he hasn’t had me playing second fiddle to Roald since I was born!”

Alan said nothing, and Liam stared forlornly up at his ceiling. He had tried for his knighthood because he had a talent with weapons of all kinds, but also because, in the darkest and most ambitious recesses of his mind, he had thought that if anything ever happened to Roald—with Kally already out of the succession—Tortall would need a king, and her king had always been a knight—

“You knew this was coming.”

Practical, down-to-earth, Alan’s voice cut through his daydreams. 

“We are second sons, after all,” he continued, his voice tinged with a rarely-seen irony. “We’re spares for the heirs.”

It was a bitter truth, if only for them. Liam had once unthinkingly said the same thing to Thayet several years ago, and she had gone tight-lipped and said _No, I had you because I wanted you, for me, for a family_ , but what woman had children save to secure heirs and alliances? It was a duty, even for Alanna, he was sure. 

“I just want—”

Liam faltered, and didn’t go on. In the darkness, Alan’s hand reached out and entwined with his, a touch of rough callouses and empathy. Midwinter was approaching, and with that so were their Ordeals. Not for the first time, Liam was grateful that Alan had entered page training at the same time he did—after all, who better understood him better than his most precious companion, his fellow spare?

He was the only one who knew what Liam truly wanted, that one thing he could never have: a choice.


End file.
